describes how a Balinese dancer first learns visually by copying, but then the movements are refined through direct transfer, “the teacher will frequently take hold of a student by wrapping his or her arms around those of the student. . . . Through this process the teacher’s style of dancing and interpretation is kinaesthetically transferred to the student” (2006, 7). One body has power over the other to transfer knowledge of tradition.
Pak Tunjung’s willingness to teach me, body to body, greatly enhanced my ability to learn and to understand the nuanced movement of the puppets. The first time he took my hand, however, he hesitated, and asked, “I will show you, OK?” Age, gender, and ethnicity might have been a factor in his initial hesitation,13 but the question could also be understood as an invitation to fully inhabit the bodily knowledge of the tradition. The student grants the teacher power over his or her body.
Figure 2.2. Pak Tunjung teaches his son, Nandhu, how to perform wayang kulit—the tradition is passed through the body. Photo by author.
Because I learned wayang kulit in my body, the body offers an ideal site for studying the relationship between the past and present as expressed and experienced through tradition. Maurice Merleau-Ponty observes, “The present still holds on to the immediate past without positioning it as an object, and since the immediate past similarly holds its immediate predecessor, past time is wholly collected up and grasped in the present” (1962, 80). People constantly put themselves in relation to objects and time, just as these things are positioned relative to them—the body remains the primary point of reference. Tradition, like habitus, relates to the past, but also like habitus this does not mean tradition reproduces exactly from generation to generation. People improvise interactions within their social situations according to a set of rules and expectations,14 much like a dalang improvises each individual performance according to set rules and expectations. Bourdieu (1977, 73, 76–77) argues that practice within the habitus is neither mechanic or predetermined, nor is it completely a matter of free will, rather that actions or strategies of any individual or group are always conceived and executed within the structures that surround them, and that actions are thus limited by the available possibilities. Bourdieu’s explanation of this situation could certainly apply to how tradition functions as well:
This is why generation conflicts oppose not age-classes separated by natural properties, but habitus which have been produced by different modes of generation, that is, by conditions of existence which, in imposing different definitions of the impossible, the possible, and the probable, cause one group to experience as natural or reasonable practices or aspirations which another group finds unthinkable or scandalous, and vice versa. (78)
My own study of wayang kulit provides an excellent point of departure for pinpointing the structures of the performance and its relationship for society because of the level of learning that I needed to undertake as a foreign woman. An examination of the practice of wayang kulit and later of women dalang allows me to identify the conditions and properties that apply to tradition and to Balinese society on a larger scale. Practice gives me a vocabulary for explaining how tradition has expanded or changed to allow this “unthinkable practice,” of women dalang, to emerge as well as supposing how women dalang might fit into the larger structures of Balinese society and whether this expansion has caused any notable change in the gender hierarchy.
Structures
The structure of a typical wayang kulit performance can often be broken into three parts, or three acts.15 The opening scenes include an invocation to the gods, inviting them to watch and participate in the performance. Next, the main characters enter to introduce the story, which the clowns, or penasar, Twalen and Merdah will translate and comment upon. There might be an additional traveling scene (angkat-angkatan) or love scene (rebong) before the next major act division, which will introduce the antagonist characters. The penasar Delem and his thin brother, Sangut, dominate this scene with their often raucous jokes and antics. The third act provides an arena for the two sides to meet and do battle; it is the climax of the performance. The performance ends with the penasar expressing their gratitude for the patience of the audience and offering the moral or lesson of the story. The dalang then closes the performance with a final ritual dedication, and sometimes he conducts the ceremony to make holy water.16
Arjuna Tapa (Arjuna’s meditation) is a popular story for young dalang to use to learn the practice of wayang kulit, and it is the first story that I learned to perform. In this story Arjuna sets out for the top of the mountain Indra Kila Giri because he is troubled by the war between his brothers, the Pandawas, and their cousins, the Korawas.17 Arjuna worries many people will die because of this war between his family members. At the top of the mountain Arjuna seeks wisdom through offerings to the gods and meditation, so that he might imagine a solution to this problem. Arjuna’s journey up the mountain is not easy; he faces many dangers because he is traveling where few others have gone before. Additionally, his desire for wisdom has made the ogre king, Niwatakwaca, angry. Arjuna does not find peace, and must battle for his life on the mountain, yet eventually the god Indra helps Arjuna by giving him a powerful weapon to destroy his enemies. At the end of the story, Arjuna is whisked away to the heavens, where he will find wisdom and more adventures.
I will use the three-part structure of wayang kulit as a description of my learning experience and as an analytic tool. The first section will focus on the basic aesthetics that are expressed and maintained in a wayang kulit performance. The second section will explore the character of the clowns and how comedy functions as a vehicle for “freedom” and social commentary, even within the set aesthetics and structure. Finally, I will describe the reception of my work, which sometimes caused conflict, in order to connect the practice of learning wayang kulit to practices within Balinese society and ritual. A wayang kulit performance contains action, narration, and commentary; likewise each section contains all these elements.
Part One—Aesthetics
A wayang kulit performance always begins with the kayonan, a large leaf-shaped puppet with intricate carving, in the middle of the screen (fig. 2.3). This puppet, often called “the tree of life” in English, is a symbol of “creative and imaginative forces” (Zurbuchen 1987, 32); it marks the beginning and ending of the performance, it indicates shifts between the three main parts, and it can be used as a transformative prop such as wind, fire, or a chariot. Mary Sabina Zurbuchen explains that the imagery and use of the kayonan in performance “links the dalang to other Balinese ritual specialists who also have access to the ‘unmanifest’ world” (134). The kayonan presents the narration of the play, blurring the distinction between the dalang’s voice and mythic voices of the ancestors represented within the ornate puppet.
At my first lesson, even without a screen, Pak Tunjung taught me how to hold the kayonan between my thumb and fingers so that I could control the movement with my entire hand. Next I learned the first of two kayonan “dances” that begin the performance. I began by holding the kayonan close to my face, and in those moments my breath slowed. As I listened to the music being played by the gender wayang (Gending Pamungkah), my awareness of my surroundings dissipated—I created a connection with the puppet and was thus prepared to perform. Using the cepala, a small wooden hammer held in the hand or toes, which I clutched in my left hand, I knocked slowly on the puppet box and then knocked faster and faster. Pak Tunjung taught me that the knocking begins in time with the music and then as it gathers energy it surpasses the music’s tempo, until it suddenly stops with one forceful final tak. I remembered this lesson as I took a breath and began the knocking sequence, which indicated to the musicians to make the shift in music that would break the kayonan from its position of peaceful contemplation in front of my face and begin an agitated dance against the center of the screen. The gender wayang played two sequences of three beats
